elder brother
The days continued with a strange and heavy calm. It was as if the confrontation at the hospital that night, the high fever, and the tears of despair were just pebbles thrown into a deep pool; after the ripples spread, the surface of the water would eventually return to its deathly stillness.
But everyone knows that some things have changed completely, sinking to the bottom of the lake, cold and hard, existing forever.
Qi Shuo returned to work at the restaurant. He remained silent, efficient in his work, nodding in response to his colleagues' greetings and patiently fulfilling the customers' requests.
He went home on time, ate the meals cooked by Sister Jin, listened to Qin Zhou chattering about interesting things at school, and occasionally gave a brief reply.
He even started going to the library again on weekends, sitting in that familiar spot, and flipping through those difficult works on translation studies. Everything seemed to be back on track; he was still the somewhat aloof Qi Shuo, but one who had integrated into normal life.
Only Sister Jin and Xiao Jue knew what kind of ruins lay beneath this calm surface, the aftermath of a tumultuous storm.
Xiao Jue has changed too. He goes to the hospital more often, and the dark circles under his eyes have almost become a permanent feature.
When facing Sister Jin and Qin Zhou, he tried his best to maintain his usual demeanor, but the exhaustion he was putting on and the occasional lapses in concentration could not be hidden from those who cared about him.
Sister Jin hesitated several times before finally silently adding more food to his bowl and patting him on the shoulder.
Qin Zhou seemed to have sensed something as well, and no longer pestered Xiao Jue with questions as carefree as before, but would occasionally steal a worried look at him.
Qi Shuo began to develop a new, secret habit. After work, or on a weekend afternoon, he would take a bus alone, crossing most of the city, to the Kangfu Hospital located in the suburbs.
He didn't go inside or upstairs; he just stood downstairs in an inconspicuous corner of the inpatient building, looking up at that familiar window with its beige curtains drawn.
He stood there for a long time, like a silent statue. He knew that behind that window was his sister.
She lived, yet in a way he could never reach, living across the distance between life and death.
He couldn't get close; he could only gaze at her from afar, separated by the cold building and thick glass, as if this would bring him a little closer, as if this would allow him to draw a tiny bit of solace from that lifeless window, a sense of her existence.
He had seen Xiao Jue pushing her wheelchair down to the small garden to bask in the sun. He saw her wearing a thick down jacket and a woolen hat, sitting quietly in the wheelchair, holding the plush rabbit in her hands, staring blankly at the bare branches in the distance.
She also saw Xiao Jue bend down and patiently feed her water, or squat in front of her, holding a picture book and whispering something.
At that moment, her expression would change slightly; the corners of her mouth might curve up very slightly, but it would quickly return to that childlike, bewildered emptiness.
Every time Qi Shuo saw such a scene, it felt as if an invisible hand was gripping his heart tightly, and his breath was filled with the smell of blood.
That was his sister, the little princess he had once sworn to protect with his life, but now she was like a fragile crystal flower, living in a transparent glass dome carefully built by others, where even touching her had become a luxury.
And he, who should have been her closest person in the world, could only hide in the shadows like a shameful voyeur, watching from afar, without even the right to get close.
This agonizing helplessness was more suffocating and prolonged than the pain he felt nine years ago when he thought he had lost her, torturing him day and night.
The turning point came on a drizzly evening. Xiao Jue called him. His voice sounded unusually tired, yet carried a calmness born of desperation.
"Qi Shuo," he said, "come to the hospital tomorrow afternoon."
Qi Shuo's fingers tightened suddenly as he gripped his phone, his knuckles turning white.
He didn't answer immediately, but listened silently to the heavy breathing coming from the other end of the receiver.
“I talked to my attending physician for a long time, and also… I talked to Ranran’s counselor.”
Xiao Jue spoke slowly, carefully choosing his words, as if each word carried immense weight. "They assessed the recent situation. Ranran reacted strongly to that traumatic experience, but it doesn't seem to have left her with any particularly persistent, specific fear. Her current condition is more stable than we expected."
He paused for a long time, so long that Qi Shuo thought the call had ended, before he heard him speak again, his voice low and hoarse, carrying an almost pleading, cautious probing tone:
"Perhaps you could try letting her get close to you, in a controlled environment. But you must remember..."
Xiao Jue's tone suddenly became stern, even carrying a hint of an unquestionable command.
"In front of her, you are not Qi Shuo. You are just a kind, unfamiliar older brother who has come to see her. Her name is Qing Ran, simply Qing Ran. Do you understand? You absolutely cannot mention anything about the past, you cannot mention... any words that might upset her. Your emotions must be stable, you cannot get agitated, you cannot show any... emotions that might frighten or confuse her. Can you... do it?"
Every word was like a cold needle piercing Qi Shuo's heart. He wasn't Qi Shuo. She was Qing Ran, not Qi Shan.
Between them lay nine insurmountable years, a bloody tragedy, and an identity forcibly rewritten.
He needs to wear a mask and play the role of a stranger, a harmless "good Samaritan," to approach his blood-related younger sister.
Is it painful? Is it humiliating? Is it hateful? All of these. But more than anything, it is a near-overwhelming sorrow and... a faint, almost imperceptible tremor called "possibility".
He could see her now. No longer through a cold glass window, no longer hiding in a dark corner to spy. He could approach her, even as a stranger.
"...Okay." Qi Shuo heard his own dry voice, like sandpaper rubbing against wood, "What...should I do?"
The next afternoon, the sky remained overcast.
Qi Shuo arrived at the hospital well in advance. He didn't go straight to the ward, but sat blankly in the small garden downstairs until his fingers were frozen stiff. Only then did he take a deep breath and turn to walk towards the inpatient building.
Every step felt like walking on a knife's edge. My heart pounded like a drum, making my eardrums buzz.
The strong smell of disinfectant in the corridor made him feel nauseous. The door to ward 703 was so close, yet it felt as distant as if separated by thousands of miles.
He stood at the door, raised his hand as if to knock, but his fingertips trembled so badly that he hesitated to put his hand down.
The door was pulled open from the inside. Xiao Jue stood in the doorway, his face pale, with particularly noticeable dark circles under his eyes.
He looked at Qi Shuo with a complex expression that was hard to describe—there was worry, warning, exhaustion, and also a barely perceptible plea of shared suffering.
He stepped aside and mouthed silently, "Remember."
Qi Shuo squeezed his eyes shut, and when he opened them again, the turbulent emotions in his eyes had been forcibly suppressed, leaving only an almost deathly calm. He went inside, his footsteps very light, as if afraid of disturbing something.
The ward was quiet, the curtains were half-drawn, and the light was soft. Qingran sat on the sofa by the window, covered with a soft blanket, still holding the rabbit doll in her arms.
She seemed to have just woken up from a nap; her hair was a little messy, and her little face had a rosy blush from just waking up. She was looking down intently at a brightly illustrated fairy tale book lying on her lap.
The sunlight shone on her, giving her a fuzzy golden edge, making her look serene and unreal.
Xiao Jue walked over, squatted down in front of her, and spoke in an extremely gentle tone that Qi Shuo had never heard before, with a deliberate, coaxing tone: "Ranran, look, a guest has come to see you."
Qingran raised her head, her clear, childlike eyes looking towards the doorway, towards Qi Shuo.
Qi Shuo's heart stopped beating for a moment.
Those were Shanshan's eyes. The exact same shape, the exact same pupil color.
However, his eyes were no longer the lively and cunning ones he remembered, but were shrouded in a thin mist, appearing empty and timid.
Her gaze lingered on Qi Shuo's face for a few seconds, without fear or curiosity, only a pure and detached scrutiny, as if she were looking at a strange, harmless object.
Then, her gaze fell on Qi Shuo's face—or rather, on the thick blue medical mask that covered most of his face.
This was something Xiao Jue had repeatedly emphasized: to reduce the potential stimulation caused by the "face".
Qingran looked at the mask for a few seconds, seemingly finding it a little strange, but did not show any particular emotion.
Her gaze shifted again, returning to the fairy tale book on her lap, but her attention was clearly no longer focused.
Xiao Jue gently took one of her small hands and guided it, slowly extending it towards Qi Shuo.
His movements were slow and gentle. As he did so, he continued in a calm, soothing tone, "Ranran, this is your older brother who came to see you. He likes Ranran very much and wants to shake hands with her, okay? Come on, let's shake hands with our older brother. Ranran is the best girl."
Qingran's small hand was held by Xiao Jue, and although it was a little stiff, she did not struggle.
Following Xiao Jue's force, she slowly raised her hand slightly, her fingertips curling up slightly, revealing a naive and pure trust—trust in Xiao Jue.
Qi Shuo stood two steps away from her, his body stiff as a stone. He looked at the small, pale hand that slowly reached out to him, the fingertips slightly pink from tension and effort.
When he was little, these hands would hold his clothes tightly, mischievously pull his hair, mess with him when he was writing, and clumsily pat his back when he was sad.
Now, these hands, still tender and childlike, hang quietly in mid-air, waiting to be touched by a strange "big brother".
A tremendous wave of bitterness surged up his throat like a tsunami, choking him and making him almost suffocate.
His eyes instantly burned, his vision blurring rapidly. He clenched his teeth, tasting a metallic, metallic sweetness in his mouth. He couldn't cry. Absolutely not. It would frighten her. Xiao Jue's warning echoed in his ears.
He used all his strength to forcefully suppress the tears that were about to burst through the dam.
Slowly, very slowly, he raised his hand, which was also trembling slightly. His hand was large, with distinct knuckles, and looked particularly bony due to years of labor and recent weight loss.
He touched the fingertips of that little hand very carefully, as if afraid of breaking some fragile treasure.
Cool. Soft. With a slight, childlike tremor.
It was a fleeting touch. Qi Shuo didn't even dare to hold it properly; he only touched it lightly before quickly and restrainedly withdrawing his hand, as if the touch carried a scorching heat.
Qingran seemed to feel the touch of fingertips. She blinked, her long eyelashes fluttering like butterfly wings.
She looked up and looked at Qi Shuo again, or more precisely, at the eyes that were visible above his mask.
Qi Shuo's eyes at this moment were a calm that he tried hard to fake, even with a hint of forced, stiff gentleness.
But beneath that calm lay turbulent pain and an overwhelming, deep sorrow.
He didn't know if Qingran could understand, he only hoped that this thick mask could block out all his out-of-control emotions.
Then, he heard Qingran speak.
His voice was soft and gentle, with a touch of childish slurring and immaturity, yet his enunciation was fairly clear, a result of Xiao Jue's long-term patient instruction.
She looked at Qi Shuo and called out very softly and timidly:
"elder brother."
No longer the "brother" with whom I had a sense of dependence, but just two simple syllables, a polite yet distant way of addressing an older, unfamiliar man.
These two words were like two red-hot irons, searing into Qi Shuo's heart. He trembled violently, almost losing his balance.
He abruptly lowered his eyelashes, concealing the crimson welling in his eyes, his chest heaving with blood, his Adam's apple bobbing violently. With all the self-control he possessed, he forced himself to exhale a faint, almost inaudible, broken breath from his throat:
"……Um."
His voice was terribly hoarse, choked with undisguised sobs. Thankfully, a mask concealed it.
Xiao Jue watched all of this with bated breath. Seeing Qi Shuo's slight trembling and Qing Ran's bewildered reaction, his heart, which had been in his throat, finally calmed down a little.
He immediately picked up the conversation, saying to Qingran in a lighthearted tone, "Ranran, you're great! Come on, shall we continue reading the storybook? We just got to the part where the little rabbit met the big bad wolf, what happened next?"
He cleverly diverted Qingran's attention, gently pulled her small hand back and held it in his own palm, while turning the pages of the fairy tale book with his other hand.
Qingran's attention was indeed drawn back. She lowered her head and looked at the book again, seemingly not too concerned about the brief "handshake" and "greeting" just now. She had simply completed a slightly strange but not a big deal task that "Little Jue Brother" had asked her to do.
Qi Shuo remained standing stiffly in place, like a sculpture whose soul had been taken away.
He gazed at the girl before him greedily, yet dared not be brazen.
Look at her profile as she furrows her brows slightly, trying to understand the story; look at her unconsciously stroking the rabbit doll's ears with her fingertips; look at the corners of her mouth, which curve slightly and without any gloom, when she hears something interesting.
Every subtle expression, every unconscious little movement, is like the sharpest carving knife, etching bloody marks on his heart.
This is his Shanshan. But this is not his Shanshan. This is a strange girl whose past has been taken away, whose mind has been destroyed by fear, and who lives under another name and identity.
While telling Qingran a story, Xiao Jue kept a close eye on Qi Shuo out of the corner of his eye.
He saw Qi Shuo's tightly clenched fists, his slightly trembling shoulders, and his red, barely suppressed eyes.
He knew what Qi Shuo was going through. It was a crueler torture than being slowly sliced to death—his closest relatives were right in front of him, yet he didn't recognize them and had to face them, conceal his true identity, and play the role of a stranger.
Time passed by second by second, each second feeling like an eternity.
Qi Shuo stood there, watching and listening. He dared not move, dared not speak, and dared not even breathe too heavily, for fear of breaking this fragile peace maintained by lies and pretense. Until Qing Ran seemed a little tired, yawned slightly, and rubbed her eyes.
Xiao Jue closed the book at the right moment and said softly, "Ranran, are you tired? Shall we rest for a while? Would you like some water?"
Qingran nodded and leaned against Xiao Jue's chest in a dependent manner.
Xiao Jue held her in his arms and gently patted her back, but his gaze fell on Qi Shuo, who was still standing stiffly like a puppet. He gestured to him with his eyes: It's okay, let's leave now.
Qi Shuo received the signal. He took one last, deep, greedy look at his sister, who was nestled in Xiao Jue's arms, half-asleep, as if trying to etch her image into the depths of his soul. Then, extremely slowly, almost with difficulty, he turned around and walked step by step toward the door. His steps were unsteady, his back stiff, as if he had used up all his strength.
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